First Kill
by MLaw
Summary: A young Illya Kuryakin experiences what every new operative in the field does, but there are some unexpected results that set him on a new path. # 8 in the Illya series
1. Chapter 1

This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction, so I decided to start with something short. I have a lot of stories and characters waiting in the wings and I hope as they are revealed, you the readers will enjoy them and be kind in your reviews. Suggestions are most welcome as like Illya in this story, I am treading in unfamiliar territory and am a little shaky about doing this. I first discovered this wonderful world of fan fiction less than a year ago and have become a avid reader...then finally became inspired to try it myself!

Of course Illya Kuryakin, Napoleon Solo and all the characters in The Man from U.N.C.L.E series do not belong to me, but I am simply borrowing the lads, asking them to come out and play.

I have planned a series of stories that will be somewhat sequential in the introduction of my own original character named Elliott McGowan. I hope you enjoy meeting her when she finally arrives.

"**First Kill**"

1951

A young Illya Kuryakin's hand shook as he reached out to check the girl's throat for a pulse. He skin was warm and as he felt it, there was the faint hint of life still there. The wound was not fatal; she would live.

He quickly emptied his coat pockets then taking it off, he then draped it over the the still form laying at his feet on the sidewalk. From her attire she looked to be some sort of street-walker who ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Someone would find her," he reasoned to himself as he stepped over her and continued walking in the direction he had last seen his target running.

This innocent had been shot by Kuryakin's quarry as he made an attempt to stop the agent's pursuit, making the Russian all the more determined now to catch his prey.

His superiors would say that the woman was no more than collateral damage. Illya believed otherwise.

But to voice such an opinion or any opinion for that matter in the Glavnoye Razvedyvatel' noye Upravlenie was a sure sign of weakness and a possible one-way ticket to the gulag, so he kept this belief along with many others to himself.

To Illya an innocent had no place in this "cat and mouse" game and he did his best to avoid their entanglement without bringing attention to himself for doing so, while other operatives did not hesitate to use an innocent to their advantage.

The man he pursued now, Professor Ivan Ivanovich would pay doubly for trying to defect as well as for his carelessness in wounding the girl, that Kuryakin promised himself.

It was his duty to stop the man, but it was his sense of honor and chivalry that drove him to avenge the girl. This was not part of his training as an agent but a remnant of his childhood upbringing.

His father's father had been a nobleman but that meant nothing in the Soviet Union, however, the belief in proper behavior and honor did in the family of Count Alexander Sergeivich Kuryakin.

Illya never knew his grandfather, but remembered the stories his babushka told him while sitting beside the fire as a child. His father Nickolaí would be playing his concertina and his grandmother would speak to him of the days when she was young and lived in a grand house in the city of Kyiv, there were dancing, banquets and happy, prosperous times.

Alexander Kuryakin took good care of his tenants and was generous to them to a fault, yet still at the time of the revolution they turned on him. He accepted it all with dignity and was ever the gentleman. But sadly he died in a re-education camp in the Solovki gulag.

_"Dershite goluysoko_ Illuysha_hold your head up high Illuysha, never forget where you came from, no one can ever take that away from you," his grandmother told him."You my child come from a long line of honorable men...gentlemen."

He never forgot those words as the gentle sound of the concertina and his grandmother's voice eventually lulled he and his siblings to sleep.

.

Illya continued down the darkened narrow Parisian street having lost sight of Ivanovich. He knew that if the professor were able to meet up with his American contact; he would surely lose the man and fail to complete his mission.

Failure was not an option to Kuryakin, as this was his first important assignment for the GRU and it had to be a success. If he failed, it could result in his transfer to some far-off destination, forever dooming him to a desk job or worse.

He stopped at the entrance to an alley when his instincts kicked in. It was a prickling feeling that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, telling him to go there. Illya drew his Tokarov pistol as he walked silently, pressing himself against the wall as he moved into the alleyway, his senses at heightened awareness.

Then without hesitation he stepped quickly around a stack of wooden crates aiming his weapon at the crouching figure of the grey-haired Ivan Ivanovich; the glass of the man's spectacles shining in the dim light.

_"Ostov'te svoy orushia__ drop your weapon!" Illya orderded in a menacing tone.

"Please do not shoot!" Begged Ivanovich as he tossed his handgun at Kuryakin's feet. "Please do not kill me?"

"You nearly killed that woman," Illya growled in response. "You showed her no pity while trying to kill me, why should I show it to you? Why should I care if you live or die?"

"Because I have a wife and a child. I can give you money." The professor begged nervously.

Illya steeled his jaw, and stared coldly at the man. "You should have thought of them before you decided to run" he said modulating his voice lower. "Why would you do this to your family? He reached up with his free hand brushing his shaggy blond hair from his eyes, feeling a momentary pang of doubt.

Suddenly Ivanovich drew another weapon, aiming it at him but Illya was too quick. He fired, putting a bullet between the older man's eyes before he was even able to fire his gun.

Ivanovich's head snapped back at the impact, his body fell against the wall then, as if in slow motion, he slipped down to the ground into the shadows.

Illya emptied the man's pockets, then taking a switchblade from his own pocket, he sliced off one of Ivan's index fingers then wrapped it in a handkerchief. He turned, leaving the body without a second thought, taking the grisly offering to his handler Katiya Revchenkov; proof that his mission had been completed.

This was his _first kill_ and knew that it would be just one of many to come, if he was lucky and didn't get killed himself.

As he walked away into the darkness, he heard only the sounds of his footsteps against the cobblestones as his thoughts drifted to Ivanovich's words.

"I have a wife and a child..." For a brief moment Illya thought he might have let the man go in spite of his anger at the wounding of the girl, thus countermanding his orders. But the man drew a weapon and it became kill or be killed, and ending his dilemma.

Other operatives had spoken of the thrill of the "first kill", but he felt no such emotion. There was only a sense of emptiness and a twinge of "something" in the pit of his stomach.

His first mission was a success, but was it guilt that gnawed at him now? He did what he was trained to do. "_Pochemu__why? Why did he feel this way?" He asked himself as he crossed the Petit Pont bridge to the left bank, disappearing into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

Illya arrived at Katiya Revchenkov's apartment not far from the Champs-Elysées He felt uneasy and realized that killing Ivanovich truly bothered him, and that was very unsettling.

His service in the Navy aboard the submarine "Moskva" had prepared him for dealing with many unpleasant things and people, his intelligence training taught him stealth, how to lie cheat and steal. how to survive and how to kill even with his bare hands. But none of this helped to prepare him how to deal with the emotions felt after taking the life of another human being.

Such a thing was dismissed by those around him and never given consideration; now he wished sorely that it had been.

He was feeling guilt and he didn't like it. He was an operative for Soviet military intelligence...he was supposed to be hardened against such things! Now he discovered he was not. Yet he realized he still had it within him to kill and do it easily. Maybe everyone was lying about not feeling anything, maybe they too felt the pain and remorse of guilt. That made sense, lying after all was taught to be second a nature to them?

These feelings were something he knew enough not to share with anyone, as knowledge of his having them could cause a great deal of trouble. He had enough concerns about it being discovered that he was sleeping with Katiya.

She was a few years older than he and an exotic beauty, half Kazak with dark skin, long black silky hair and almond shaped brown eyes that a man could get lost in. She was experienced in many things but she was especially gifted in matters of the flesh.

She eventually seduced him and he let her do it, even though he knew it was risky having your handler as your lover. He knew that she could betray him at any time, but once he was in bed with her, his fears were lost in her embrace.

When he first arrived at the Sorbonne to begin his studies, he was given the task of spying on other Soviet students and professors. He watched their movements, who they studied with, who they made friends with, made note of all their activities, suspicious or not. He received his instructions weekly at "dead drops" located at the university, delivering his reports there in the same manner.

Then finally one day there was a knock at his door. A woman's voice spoke the proper password Illya and gave her entry.

"Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, so you are _novobranets__the rookie they sent me," she said eyeing him with suspicion.

"Since you know who I am Komrade, you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, and you are...? he asked cautiously.

"I am Katiya Revchenkov, your handler," she answered sharply. "She strutted around him with her hands clasped behind her back, looking him up and down." You are too young...how could you be attending Sorbonne?

Illya straightened himself standing to his full height, but the woman was still taller than he. "I am 18 years old Komrade Revchenkov" and I have been told that I am of exceptional intelligence. My sponsor Captain Karkoff of the Directorate requested I be sent here to continue my education as well as to gain experience as an operative."

"Ah, yes Viktor Karkoff," she smiled, "You have a powerful guardian. So you are the protégeé," she then mused. "Be sure you do not disappoint him; he does not take kindly to that...so do you have anything to eat or drink in this place?" She suddenly changed the subject looking around at his shabby room. She had already made mental note how thin he was and suspected that he had nothing to offer her.

"A bit of vodka" he apologized."But nothing more. My monthly stipend ran out a few days ago."

"What have you done for food?" she asked.

"I have not eaten much. My landlady was kind enough to give me some bouillon yesterday; but her kindness is extended only as long as the rent is paid," he shrugged. "That, I am afraid sometimes comes before food."

"You are too skinny, that will not due," she pronounced. "You won't be of much use to me if you get sick or starve to death. Come, Illya Nickovich we go get something for you to eat, _da_?"

Illya relaxed just a little. "_Spasibo tovarishchu Revchenkov_."

She placed her palm against Illya's chest and she felt his heart race. "Do not call me Komrade" she whispered." Her breath smelled of cinnamon to him.

"You call me Katiya, I am student such as yourself. If questioned about our meetings; we are simply studying and nothing more. Is this understood?"

"Yes, Kom..Katiya." He corrected himself with a nod of his head.

She took Illya to a _boulangerie_ purchasing several baguettes of bread, then stopped at another shop for fresh fruit, cheese, tea, the makings of porridge and lastly a bottle of white wine.

"That should tide you over until your money arrives," she smiled at him."So tell me Illya Nickovich, where are you from?" She then asked as they strolled along the river munching on a piece of the crusty bread.

"I am from _Novgorad_," he lied to her.

"Ah good, you are not quick to tell the truth. This is good that you do not feel lulled into a false sense of security even with me eh?"

Illya simply nodded to her.

"And where is your family?" She continued probing, knowing full well his personal background.

"My mother works in a factory at home in _Novgorod_, my father is dead."He answered matter of factly, but understood that she knew it was another lie.

"Good.! Always keep your cover story simple, you will have less facts to keep straight. Never offer information that is not asked of you and remember, the less people know about you, the longer you will live."

.

This was how the two often spent their meetings together, he giving his reports, she giving him advise on the finer points of being a spy. Many of which he had not been taught during his training back in the Soviet Union. These were things one learned through experience, or from a mentor such as Katiya.

It was late in the spring when they found themselves sitting on a bench in _Le Bois de Boulogne,_ discussing his latest report. The park was filled with with rowers, joggers, strollers, bicyclists, people playing games of pétanque, picknic-ers and of course, lovers.

It was there under the warmth of the afternoon sun, beneath the lush greenery that Katiya Revchenkov suddenly leaned over and without warning kissed him on the lips. It was long and passionate and Illya didn't hesitate to respond, sensing that she had known of his growing attraction towards her. They went to her apartment and made love for the rest of the afternoon and into the night.

.

And now Illya returned to his Katiya with the bloody finger of Ivan Ivanovich. He let himself into her apartment with his key, laying the handkerchief on the window sill like a cat presenting the prized mouse he had just caught. She ignored it and continued to look out the window.

"It is done" he said to her coldly.

"_Ochen' horosho__very good" she answered. "I knew you could do this." She turned wrapping her arms around his neck then kissed him hard.

One by one she proceeded to undo his buttons, pulling his shirt down in such way that he could not move his arms. She ran her tongue across the skin of his chest, then kissed it tenderly, then bit it playfully. Illya moaned, then she lead him to her bed.

The next morning he found himself alone, a note left on the pillow beside him. "Meet me at noon at 34 _Rue de le Concorde._ Let yourself in...trust no one."

Illya bathed, dressed, then left to meet Katiya, tucking his pistol securely under his belt hidden beneath his shirt.

When he finally arrived to the address at the designated time, he did as instructed and let himself in. But looking at the lock on the door as he entered; he noticed it had been tampered with. He walked inside cautiously; looking for her, but there was no sign of Katiya anywhere. Something was wrong...the rooms seemed disheveled as if they had been ransacked.

Illya quickly decided that this was not a good place for him to be and headed back towards the front door. But it was too late. Just as he reached it, the door opened and he came face to face with a _Gendarme _holding a pistol aimed directly at him.

_"Arrétez-vous monsieur!__Stop where you are sir!" The constable ordered."_Mettez vos mains sur votre téte s'il vous plait__put your hands on your head, please? Then he asked politely," Excuse me _Monsieur_, but do you have a weapon?"

Illya almost laughed aloud at the Frenchman's manners. "_Oui, sous ma chemise__yes, beneath my shirt. "_Agent, il ya euune erreur_. _Je peux vous explique__officer, there has been some mistake. I can explain."

"_Non Monsieur_, no mistake." The Gendarme answered as he relieved Illya of his Tokarov. "We received a report of a man fitting your description breaking into this, the East German Ambassador's residence. So please if you will permit me _Monsieur_?" The _Gendarme_ held out a pair of handcuffs.

"_Der'mo_! Illya cursed aloud in Russian. Katiya had set him up, but for the life of him he could not understand why?

Illya slowly lowered his hands in front of him, allowing the handcuffs to be put around his wrists, then he was led outside into the waiting police van.

He was permitted to make several telephone calls once he arrived at the police station. And after quite a bit of maneuvering on the part of Viktor Karkoff and the Russian Ambassador, Illya's release was secured, but he was ordered to leave France immediately. Luckily his Masters studies had been completed, and he half-expected to be transferred anyway, but just not under such circumstance as this.

Twenty four hours later he arrived at Heathrow Airport in Great Britain, having been given his new assignment. He would now attend Cambridge University to earn a doctorate in physics and was instructed to spy on the scientists that he would be working with, much to his relief. It was not the assignment he expected, and thought he would receive something more harsh as punishment for nearly causing an international incident.

Word eventually reached him that Viktor Karkoff had been demoted due in part to his "former" protegée's foolish mistake. Illya wondered what, if any retribution would some day come his way from Viktor? Caution and practicality would govern his life more than ever now.

He never heard from Katiya again. And was happy that he had not, as he was angry at her betrayal even though he always knew it could happen, he never really believed it would.

Better to stay away from women he decided, lesson learned, trust no one. And so Illya buried himself in his work, making his reports, sending detailed information about any interesting finds made by his fellow scientists. Two years passed quickly and his studies were finally complete. He was granted his Doctorate in quantum mechanics.

Illya Kuryakin expected another transfer, but what was presented to him in the spring of 1956 was something he could never have anticipated.


	3. Chapter 3

Illya functioned independently as an agent for the next two years, unencumbered by a handler or anyone else looking over his shoulder for that matter. He was the one doing all the looking this time. After the problem in Paris he was surprised that they let him work this way, but he never questioned it, and accepted the freedom gladly.

And as time passed, his encoded reports and files sent like clockwork to his contacts became routine, almost mundane. At least his superiors knew that he did his work in a timely manner, for all it was worth. He had very little excitement in his life and although he was relieved that no one was trying to kill him; this assignment in Great Britain had worn thin on him. He felt as though he had been forgotten. On the bright side, at least his English had improved greatly.

He enjoyed working in the labs and at times he almost forgot his purpose for being there. But his boredom finally out weighed even his love of knowledge. Once he had earned his Doctorate though, he knew that a change would be forthcoming, he only hoped that it would be for the better.

"Maybe the thrill of the chase would not be so bad after all," he wondered.

The coded telephone message he had been waiting for came at three o'clock in the morning.

It was but one short sentence. "_Otets nuzhdaet-sya v vas__ "Father needs you". He knew instantly that he was being recalled to the Soviet Union. He had not been there in almost six years but expected things had changed little since he was last home. "_Glavnaya_"_home," he whispered to himself, surprised that he used the word. It no longer had any meaning for him, not since the war, when his entire world had been ripped away from him by the Nazis.

But still he was going back to his country where he could speak his own language, eat Russian food, drink good Russian vodka..not that swill that he had to drink in England. Sometimes that could not even cheer his melancholy disposition.

Illya took the next available a plane at eight the next morning, boarding a _Tupelov _Tu-104 jetliner, the newest addition to the Aeroflot fleet. The flight would land at _Khodynka _Aerodrome, though an over-crowded and over-used airport; it was closer to the city center than _Vnukovo_ which was 28 km. from the center of _Moskva. _The busier but closer terminal afforded him valuable time to get in, get himself a uniform and meet his contact.

He was apparently receiving a promotion and needed to appear in the appropriate uniform of his new rank in the Soviet Navy.

He would not be going to GRU headquarters...no one went to GRU headquarters. Known as the "Aquarium"*, the central building of the 2nd headquarters of the General Staff was a mystery to all but a group of select few. People heard about it, but were afraid to speak of it. Unlike KGB, GRU was truly a secret military organization. One was selected for it's service as Illya had been, one volunteered for the KGB.

He remembered the words as he sat back in the uncomfortable passenger seat.

"It was possible to speak about the GRU but only from inside the GRU. That voice was likened to a whisper of a whisper that "could not be heard behind the crystal walls of the dome at _Khodynka_."*

His flight arrived and he made his way through the crowded terminal to the outside where he hailed a taxi, an old model _Pobeda_ that had seen better days, but it would do. He told the diver to take him the merchant quarter__Kitaigorod_, just off Red Square, where he would be able to find the uniform. The best he could afford would be a used one, and he hoped he would find one there that a _tyeílor _who could adjust it quickly for a decent fit to his slim form.

At 2:00 p.m. he walked through Red Square dressed in a worn, but serviceable uniform. He stopped for a moment remembering the beauty of St. Basil's Cathedral, in stark contrast to the walls of the Kremlin.

The day was cloudy, cold, and a light snow had just begun to drift down from the sky.

He smiled for a second as the sun broke thought the clouds sending beams of sunlight down to the brightly painted cathedral domes and spires of the church, bringing them to life.

A man dressed in a grey woolen coat and a fur _ushanka_ on his head with the ear-flaps tied up, stood staring at him for a moment, then approached.

"Komrade Kuryakin?

"_Da_..." Illya answered.

"_Dobro poshalovat' domoy__welcome home," the man said offering his hand to Illya who accepted it reluctantly

"Spacibo."

"_Menya zovut Leonid Fedorov_. I am here to escort you to your meeting"

.

"And where would that be?" Illya asked.

"I am not at liberty to say," said Fedorov.

Illya's stomach tightened into a knot. "Fine...lead away then."

Fedorov took him to a small building a quarter mile away from Red Square, seeing Kuryakin through the small wooden doorway, while Guards stationed just inside the entrance stood at attention.

"You must leave any weapons here at the desk please," Fedorov told him.

Illya removed his revolver from his shoulder holster placing it on the desk, then his switchblade from it's sheath on his calf.

"_Sdelat"__done,"he said.

"You are very privileged Komrade Kuryakin," said Fedorov as he escorted Illya down a corridor. "You will be meeting with Komrade Colonel-General Korabelniko Vladimirovich."

Illya was caught off guard..." I will be meeting with the Chief of the Main Intelligence Directorate? Do you know what this is about?"

"Again Komrade Kuyakin,"smiled Fedorov. "I am not at liberty to say."

.

One Month Prior

"The list of candidates," said Colonel-General Niko Vladimirovich. "Let me see that again." The Chief of the Directorate, sat at a large ornately carved oak desk, a remnant from a more decadent time and a small indulgence that he permitted himself.

The were dozens of files spread out in front of him, with a black and white photograph attached to the front of each of them. He stared down at the faces studying each one carefully. These were the acceptable candidates and it was a matter of just choosing one. It seemed so simple.

In his mind "that one" however, had to meet the approval of the organization, and still be an operative GRU could afford to sacrifice.

"What about that one?"said Captain Nikitin, his assistant. "The one with the light hair," he said pointing to the photograph.

Vladimirovich opened the file reviewing it again carefully. The man was young, too young for what was requested. But he read further... a talent for languages, mathematics, a Masters and Doctorate in physics. The file indicated he was small but athletic, and scored high in all his requisite tests, especially marksmanship.

"Why is this man's file here?" He asked. "He should not be on this list?"

"Komrade, he has no family as he was bespriorzi_ a war orphan. He has made no friends, always keeps to himself. He is a nothing and replaceable! His only political connection is gone and that was with that pompous fool Viktor Karkoff as his sponsor! He has been working at Cambridge the last two years watching their scientists and he sends only his dull scientific reports week after week. He is a lab-rat and nothing more. I think this one is the type who will get himself killed and quickly at that, better he die on them, than on us!" said Nikitin."

For someone at the GRU to have political connections to a disgraced member was a catastrophe, especially for an operative. Disfavor was a precarious position to hold and Viktor Kigaroff had attained that status thanks to Illya Kuryakin, who let himself be easily manipulated by a woman and caused a near international incident.

Kuryakin's failure became Viktor's failure, and his downfall. Illya's mistake was now finally coming back to haunt him courtesy of Vladimirovich and Nikitin.

"Karkoff, his sponsor?" Vladimirovich laughed. "This is too perfect! I suppose that alone makes him the only candidate. This will be another slap in the face to that idiot Viktor. Yes done, this is the one! He is quite green, and therefore his life expectancy short. And when he dies, we will not be obliged to replace him, yet we will continue to reap the benefits! Yes! It is decided."

.

Illya sat at attention in a plain wooden chair just outside a door at the end of the corridor. A dark haired officer emerged, speaking to him. "_Tovarishch Kapitan_ Kuryakin ?"

Illya stood up, snapping to attention "_Da,Tovarishch Kapitan_!"

"Follow me please?" Said Nikitin.

He followed behind the officer, walked into the office, stood at attention in front of the desk saluting the Colonel-General sharply, then remained silent, his chin slightly raised as he waited to be addressed.

"Komrade Kuryakin, do you know why you are here?" asked Vladmirovich. "You may speak frankly and please sit."

He was offered a chair in front of the desk by Maksim Nitikin. Illya sat down in the chair, only removing his cap which he held in his lap. His bright blue eyes however, remained transfixed on the figure of Vladimirovich.

"Sir, have I been recalled for disciplinary reasons?"

The Colonel-General let out a hearty laugh. "No, quite the contrary young man! "Komrade Kuryakin, you are being given a unique opportunity to aide your government. We have been approached by an organization known as the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement...are you familiar with this name?

"Yes Komrade Colonel-General."

"Tell me what you know of it?"

Illya hesitated choosing his words carefully "Sir, it is a multi-national, independent organization owing no allegiance to one specific country."

"And Komrade Kuryakin, you are familiar with it's purpose?"

"Somewhat, sir," he answered, deliberately keeping it vague.

"Tell me what you know then, Kuryakin?" smiled Vladimirovich.

"As it is my understanding sir, it is dedicated to protecting the world from

evil," he answered, choosing to say as little as possible.

Vladimirovich laughed again. "That is putting it simply, but essentially correct. U.N.C.L.E provides protection as well as intelligence to its member nations against any perceived threat to that country's well being and sovereignty, irregardless of that nation's political policies. It's ultimate goal is to maintain world peace. But like GRU, one cannot ask to join U.N.C.L.E, it does the asking. The _CCCP _has been given such an invitation to join this organization, and as a member we will receive vital data and intelligence."

"In exchange for this information we are being asked to supply them with a representative from our government to function as their agent...you Komrade Kuryakin are being offered that opportunity."

Illya's eyes widened, but showed no other reaction. "Yes Komrade Director." He droned. "I live to serve the Soviet people!"

"Any other questions Komrade?"

"Yes sir. It will be my assignment to spy on them for our government is that correct?"

"Oh you are not being given an assignment Komrade. You are being presented with a new job. You will be required to divest yourself from the Soviet Union and take an oath of allegiance to U.N.C.L.E. You will no longer act as agent for us. This will require you to give up everything Komrade Kuryakin...you will no longer serve the Soviet people. Can you do that?"

Illya blanched then swallowed, the thought of giving up his country? He hesitated, then smiled.

"Sir, If I take this job, I will still serve the Soviet Union, only indirectly."

"That is another way to look at it Komrade," smiled the Chief. "However, before we proceed further, there is someone you must meet." Vladimirovich motioned to Nikitin to escort the guest into the office.

An older gentleman in a tweed suit, with a bria pipe stuck in his mouth walked in behind Nikitin. "Kolya," the man smiled. "Very good to see you, very good indeed!"

Vladimirovich stood greeting the man and shaking his hand. "So Alexander, I would like you to meet Captain Illya Nickovich Kuryakin."

Illya rose standing at attention, he clicked his heels then nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Komrade Kuryakin, this is Mr. Alexander Waverly, one of the founders of U.N.C.L.E. and and old friend."

"I am honored to make your acquaintance sir," Illya responded crisply.

"I will leave you two to speak in private," said Vladimirovich, motioning for Maksim Nikitin to do the same.

Waverly leaned back against the desk, resting his hands behind him on the surface. "So young man, your superior has explained the proposal to you?"

"Yes Sir."

"And what do you think of such an offer? asked Waverly, sucking on the mouthpiece of his pipe.

Illya kept silent for a moment, unsure if it was wise to speak his mind to this man. "Sir, you are not familiar I think, with the way things are done in GRU. There is no offer. I have no say in this, as I must do what is expected me or suffer the consequences. I am being told I must give up my country and go with your organization. I feel as though I am being offered up to you as a..."sacrificial lamb." If I go I think I will die, if I stay I know die, I am sure Komrade Vladimirovich knows this as well."

"You have a fatalistic outlook for someone so young Mr. Kruryakin. This is an opportunity to live young man, not to die. The GRU has one simple rule as I recall, "_in-one ruble,exit-two rubles_, _meaning that to join the organization is easy, but to come out is much more difficult_. You are being given the opportunity for an easy exit."

Illya bit his lower lip as he thought, then ran his fingers though his hair absent-mindedly.

"The position you will hold with U.N.C.L.E will however, not be an easy one. You will be a section two field agent, operations and enforcement. There will be dangers, I will not deny that. That is the spy business."

Waverly paused a moment to give Illya time to think.

"So, what is your decision young man?" he finally asked.

"I have no choice but to accept your offer as it I see my odds of survival are slightly better with you than if I stay with GRU. Mr. Waverly. I am not a well-seasoned operative. I am afraid I have but one kill to my name." said Illya with honesty. "My first and only kill was but a few years ago."

"That is not a consideration Mr. Kuyakin, now let's say we prove your former Comrades wrong, shall we?" Alexander Waverly smiled clapping a hand to the Russian's back.

.

FINIS

.

Author's note* GRU reference source: "Inside the Aquarium: Making of a Top Soviet Spy," by Viktor Suvorov


End file.
